CRAVE (10 page)

He found that he did know his way around Newland. He recognized every building from the Weaver’s Barn to the Commons to the Extant’s house. He knew what an Extant was, but didn’t know that the Extant and the male claiming to be his father were one and the same until they reached the house.

“This is the Extant’s house,” Crave said, lingering on the porch step.

“It is. I live here and there’s a room available if you want it. You can come and go as you please.”

“You’re the leader.” It was a statement, but also a request for confirmation.

Free stopped at the door, turned and nodded. “You’re leader’s son.”

Crave wasn’t really up for that. He knew that being leader’s son came with certain responsibilities and, worse, expectations. “I don’t think so.”

“You mean you don’t believe you’re my son?”

Crave looked his father in the eye. “I mean, I don’t feel like leader’s son. And I don’t want to be.”

Free looked as sad as the girl from the jail floor. “You don’t have to accept that, Crave. Just get through today. Then get through tomorrow. Maybe someday you will feel like leader’s son. Maybe you won’t.”

Crave cocked his head to the side and studied the man in front of him. That seemed like a completely reasonable proposition and one he could live with. “What happened to her face?” he asked.

Crave watched something dark flicker over Free’s face, but the Extant regained control of his expression before Crave could identify it. “It was an accident and not long ago. She’s not ready to talk about it. So it would be better if…”

Crave nodded. “Yeah. I get it. Just curious.”

Free opened the door.

The aromas coming from inside were the stuff of ecstasy. Some kind of meat being browned with… onions maybe.

Free heard Crave’s sniff and smiled. “Smells good, doesn’t it? No one can cook like Serene. You want to see your room, settle in before lunch?” He looked Crave up and down. “There’s always enough for extra helpings. You could use a few pounds.”

“Yeah. I’d like to see my room.”

He followed Free up the stairs. When Free continued down the hallway past the room that had been Carnal’s, Crave stopped at the threshold of Carnal’s bedroom door.

“Who sleeps here?” Crave asked.

“This room belongs to our oldest son.” Free carefully worded his response to avoid answering directly, and distracted Crave from the question at the same time. He pointed up the second flight of stairs on his way past. “Charming lives up there Then stopped at the last door. “This is you.”

Free thought there couldn’t be anything stranger than showing the son, who’d been born in that house twenty-five years before, where to find his own room. Most of the mementos and knickknacks had been cleared out, taken over to the jail as part of Dandelion’s maybe-he’ll-remember-this project.

“There were more personal things in here. They were taken to the, ah, place where you’ve been. We’ll bring them back.”

“Don’t bother,” Crave said then realized that sounded callous even to him. “I mean, don’t do it on my account. I wouldn’t know the difference.”

“Whatever you want. So. Lunch will be ready shortly.”

Crave nodded absently and Free withdrew without another word.

Dandy sat on the chair that had been brought in for Dr. Reising and stared into the holding facility cell. After months of doing little other than staring into that space, it was strange to see the door standing open and even stranger to be the only person in the building.

She couldn’t seem to take her mind away from the sight of Crave walking away without even looking back. She’d stood outside in the wind, arms wrapped around herself and watched him all the way to the Extant’s house. That’s how she knew he’d never looked back.

On the inside she felt as empty as the cell that transfixed her and, in some ways, felt the pain of separation from Crave for the first time since his rescue. When he’d been taken, she’d known he loved her more than anything. More than himself. She’d believed that he either lived loving her or had died loving her, and she’d never imagined a world in which neither was true.

The afternoon passed without Dandy feeling motivated to leave the chair. The fire had died and the day had grown even colder. She went to the Commons, ate a meat pie and drank a red ale which went a long way toward warming her up. A couple of people said they supposed she must be glad that Crave was released. She nodded her head, but kept chewing and didn’t engage in conversation.

When she left, she didn’t go to her parents’ house. She went back to the holding facility. She didn’t examine her reasons. She simply gave herself permission to do what she wanted at the moment. She built a fire, unrolled her pallet, and lay down facing the empty cell.

The next morning she went home to her parents’ house. She took care of grooming chores, changed clothes, and went to the bar.

On her way out the door her mother said, “We heard about Crave.”

Dandelion said, “Uh huh,” and closed the door behind her.

Scar had been making do with a parade of unsatisfactory workers. Unsatisfactory meaning that they didn’t understand what needed to be done or proceed to do it without supervision. He had high standards.

Between Rosie’s disappearance and Dandy’s leave of absence, he was always in a bear of a grumpy mood and ran help away before they had a chance to prove themselves.

Scar, who had never worked earlier than mid-afternoon because he knew Dandy managed the place like a tight ship, had pretty much had to be there all the time. He watched as Dandy walked in that morning like she’d never been gone. She took an apron and began her pre-Rosie routine.

“Good to have you back,” Scar said.

Dandy didn’t look up. She just said, “Yep.”

Feeling like he could relax for the first time in a while, Scar took in a deep breath, took his cloak from the hook, and left the building.

When Dandy returned to the holding facility late afternoon after her shift at the Commons, she discovered that someone had reclaimed the two chairs that had been borrowed at the request of Dr. Reising. What remained was her pallet and all the things she’d brought to remind Crave who he was.

The wind chime had been hung from a long peg that she’d attached to the wall by the windows. As she passed she reached out and ran her fingers over the strings to recreate the sound she’d been hearing outside her window for the past eight years whenever there was a breeze.

She started the fire and sat down on her pallet with her back to the wall. The crackle of the fire and moan of the wind were the audio backdrop to the jumble of thoughts she was trying to sort through. How was it possible, in any version of reality, that Crave could forget her? Forget them? They’d been best friends, practically inseparable since they were twelve years old. Yet he’d turned his back and walked away without giving her another thought.

From a time before puberty her life had moved in one direction only. Toward Crave and the future they would have together. She’d given him her promise years before he’d asked. The recollection of the question at the high mountain pool made her smile just a little. It also caused a single tear to follow the curve of her cheek on its downward path and she swiped at it angrily. To her it was physical evidence that they’d been right to deny her warrior training. Tears meant she was weak.

Her thoughts circled round and round in a loop, recollections of growing up with Crave, how she couldn’t wait to see him each day, how she hated being parted from him at night. Then later how she’d spent over two years running the Commons bar with a dedication that mimicked ownership, studiously working at distracting herself from dwelling on what Crave might be enduring, if he’d survived. She’d always chased away that caveat, choosing to stubbornly believe that he was alive and coming back.

Those mental pictures gave way to the months she’d spent in that very spot, watching over Crave in his madness, gently urging his poor shattered mind to heal and return him to her. During that time she’d made and revised many bargains with herself and the gods. If he couldn’t be healed, she’d accept any version of sanity. She’d adjust to a psychologically damaged Crave and be happy to have him home.

Was it like the stories about genies in bottles? Had she failed to make the request specific enough? To say that she needed him to remember her, to reach out and cleave to her the way she longed to do with him, body and soul?

That was the pattern. She forced herself to think about the good things, the beautiful things, but her own mind betrayed her, pounding at the door of consciousness, demanding to dwell on the downward spiral of her life, until the circle ended with her sitting alone in an empty jail not knowing what to do next. When fatigue claimed her, she slumped over and slept, dreaming of laughing, trying in vain to pull away, as Crave tickled her by kissing her toes one by one at the high mountain waterfall pool.

Word began to get around Newland, as was inevitable, that a sullen Dandelion was still sleeping at the holding facility. People shook their heads and felt sympathy for her, but minded their own business and left her alone to her sorrow. If they tried to engage her in conversation at the Commons, they avoided mention of Crave and said nothing about her lack of eye contact, which was a signal that she wasn’t interested in socializing.

Even Scar left her alone. He was thrilled to have the Commons back in hand and not wanting to say or do anything to jeopardize that. But he wasn’t entirely without heart. He sincerely believed that it was in Dandy’s best interest that she stayed busy.

Eventually word of Dandy sleeping at the jail reached Charming. Even though he had his hands full with managing the proposed move to Farsuitwail, he had his priorities straight. Family first. And Dandelion was family whether Crave knew it or not.

It wasn’t that Charming didn’t love Crave or feel sorry for him. It was that the family had paid a very dear price to get him back and he’d responded by cutting his mother’s face open and cutting the spirit of his Promise to the quick.

On the fourth night, as Dandy sat on her pallet with her back to the wall, the door opened. She jerked her head to the left in surprise. She hadn’t had a single visitor since Crave had been freed. Not even her parents questioned her about the strange behavior. If it was going to be anyone, she thought, of course it would be Charming. He would never hesitate to insert himself in someone else’s business. She supposed that might be a quality of a good leader, but wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was simply a quality of a nosy male.

Charming juggled two mugs of hot cider to get the door open, only sloshing a bit onto the back of one hand. When the latch gave way, he pried the door open the rest of the way with his body and, once inside, closed it with a well-worn boot and licked the drops from his hand.

Gifting Dandy a smile that still looked boyish even with the recent pile on of responsibility, he said, “Brought something to warm your insides and loosen your tongue.”

She chuckled as she reached up to take the mug he offered. Charming had that effect.

He sat down next to her, also using the wall as a back support. “Whatcha doin’?” He took a sip of cider as if sitting on the floor staring into a former jail cell wasn’t all that odd.

“Minding my own business. You?”

“Nah. Other people’s business is a lot more interesting.”

She smiled into her mug and took a drink, grateful for the way the warm drink made her feel like she might still be alive. “How is he?”

“Honestly? I couldn’t tell you. Even if he hadn’t moved out of the house, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I’m gone from daybreak to dusk. I’m not sure that I could tell you how
I
am, much less my brother.”

“How’s it going down there?”

“Farsuitwail? All right, I guess. I can tell you that stuff like this looks easier when somebody else is doing it. I’d rather be playing scruffal than making sixty decisions an hour, worrying that each one is the wrong thing.”

She turned and looked at Charming. He did seem different. “If you weren’t good at whatever it is you’re doing, they’d replace you. You know that. That’s how it works here.”

“That’s how it works everywhere. I guess.” He took a drink then got up and put another log on the fire. “You know the humans say that, when they get what they call the power grid up and running again, you won’t need to burn a fire for heat. They’ll install machines to keep buildings at exactly the temperature you want.” He grinned. “Is that crazy?”